


There's a Book of Jubilation

by Cinaed



Category: Anne of Green Gables - L. M. Montgomery, Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Crossover, Female Friendship, First Meetings, Fix-It, Gen, Male Friendship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-16
Updated: 2014-01-10
Packaged: 2018-01-04 19:38:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 6,970
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1084930
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cinaed/pseuds/Cinaed
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>One afternoon, Matthew announces that a strange new family has bought the Pritchett farm.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A New Family Comes to the Island

**Author's Note:**

> This is all voksen's fault.
> 
> The title is cribbed from Josh Ritter's "Lantern":
> 
>  _Throw away those lamentations,_  
>  we both know them all too well.  
> If there's a book of jubilation,  
> we've got to write it for ourselves.

”You took your time in Carmody,” Marilla said as Matthew shuffled slowly into the kitchen.

Matthew paused. There was a look of mild surprise upon his face, swiftly replaced by a vague, apologetic air. “Well now, Marilla,” he said shyly, twisting his hat in his hands. “I know I was a little long at the store, but Rachel Lynde caught me as I was hitching up the horses.” 

"Ah," Marilla said, in a tone so unwittingly understanding that Anne, peeling a potato in the corner, had to bite her lip to repress a laugh. "And what did Mrs. Lynde have to say?" 

"Well now," said Matthew, and there was a queer, almost pleased look in his eyes. He glanced towards Anne. His gaze lingered on her as he twisted his hat again. "Well now, it seems that someone has bought the Pritchett farm and means to do something with the orchard. A family called—" He faltered briefly. Then he said, his mouth cautiously shaping the unfamiliar, foreign name, "Fauchelevent."

"Fauchelevent," Marilla repeated with a wrinkle of her nose. "What sort of name is that?"

"Well," Matthew said, a trifle apologetically. "It seems they are two brothers, old bachelors, and a younger sister, and the sister’s girl, all come over from Paris." 

“ _Paris_!” 

This exclamation of wonder was accompanied by a dull thump, for Anne had dropped the half-peeled potato to the floor and was staring at Matthew, her eyes wide and her face taking on a look of incredulous awe.

"They’re French?" she breathed, clasping her hands together and leaning towards Matthew. The question was whispered as though she thought herself asleep and was frightened that the volume of her own voice would wake her from this lovely dream. "And, oh, Matthew,  _oh_ , did you say there is a girl? Is she my age? Oh, I have always longed to meet a little French girl! I am certain she will be beautiful. And I have always thought little French girls must have the most charming of accents, for they say French is the most romantic language, you know. I hope we shall be friends! I wonder if she speaks English. Perhaps she is still learning. It doesn’t matter. Language is no barrier when you are meant to be friends. We shall look in each other’s eyes and know instantly we are meant to be friends, no matter if I speak English and she speaks French—”

"Anne," Marilla said warningly.

Anne’s breathless speech halted long enough for Matthew to interject, “Mrs. Lynde seems to think she’s about your age, Anne.”

"Oh, Marilla!" Anne rushed towards her— Marilla winced as the forgotten potato was stepped on and ruined— and flung her arms around Marilla’s waist, turning a look of appeal upon her. "Please say we may visit soon! We must be neighborly, mustn’t we?"

"Well," Marilla was forced to concede, "I suppose it would be the polite thing to call upon them, especially being that they’re new to the island, but you must not be rude, Anne. You do pry, you know."

"I know," Anne said, her freckled face falling mournfully as she stepped away from Marilla. "I try not to, but I am so frightfully curious sometimes. Don’t you ever get so curious that you feel you will die if you don’t get answers?"

"No," Marilla said, and Anne sighed.

Matthew, for his part, had shrank back a little in the doorway as the implication of their words had struck him. He shifted uneasily. “Well now, I am sure they would be pleased to meet you both,” he said softly. “When will you visit?”

"Oh no, Matthew," Marilla said with a reproachful look. "I will not visit the Fauchelevents and then have to explain your absence. You will have to meet them too."

Matthew, thinking of the mother and daughter now living in the Prichett’s old farmhouse, inwardly quailed. “All right, Marilla, if you say so.”

"We shall visit tomorrow," Marilla said briskly. She turned to Anne, who seemed lost in a daydream, her hands still clasped to her throat and her eyes shining. It took Marilla saying Anne’s name twice before the girl responded, blinking the dreamy look from her eyes. "Anne, sit back down and finish the potatoes. If you work quickly, perhaps we can make some extra stew tonight to take over to the Pritchett— that is, to the Fauchelevent farm tomorrow."  

Anne fairly flew back to the stool, squashing the poor forgotten potato a final time and picking up another. She bent to her work. Her expression was so intent that her tongue stuck slightly out of the corner of her mouth. Her eyes were narrowed as she began to determinedly peel the potato. 

Marilla turned away, for amusement, something she was still unaccustomed to but which nevertheless was more familiar in the months since Anne had come to Green Gables, had caught hold of her once more, and she did not wish for Anne to catch her smiling. 

Matthew looked down at his hat, crumpled beyond rescue in his nervous hands. He let out a quiet, resigned sigh that did not reach Anne or Marilla’s ears. Perhaps Marilla would let him say his hellos and then escape back outside, he thought hopefully and shuffled back out to see to the horses. 


	2. The Fauchelevent Family

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Marilla, Matthew, and Anne call upon the Fauchelevent family.

Marilla frowned as soon as Anne stumbled into the kitchen the next morning. She had known Anne would work herself into a state of nerves over this new family, and sure enough, Anne's young face was swollen from a sleepless night.

Anne shuffled heavy-eyed to the table, moving like a sleepwalker. She sat down and then stared blankly at the meal as though she'd never seen food before. 

"Now, Anne, you eat your breakfast," Marilla said, wiping her hands on her apron and trying not to betray the mild anxiety she felt at Anne's pallor. "It's obvious you've not slept a wink, wondering what this French family will be like. Eat, or Matthew and I will visit and I'll have to tell them you were feeling poorly."

That woke the sleepwalker from her dream. Anne's gray eyes were full of reproachful astonishment as they rose to meet Marilla's. "Oh, Marilla," was breathed with no small trace of horror. "You wouldn't do that, would you?" 

"I would," Marilla said mercilessly.

Anne let out a despairing sigh. "I am not at all hungry," she said even as she picked up a biscuit and brought her reproachful look to bear upon it. "My stomach feels full of butterflies." 

"It's just your nerves making you think so. Your stomach's empty, so eat." 

"Yes, Marilla," Anne sighed. "Though it will be a terrible effort. Food has turned to ashes in my mouth."

"Well, how on earth would you know that?" Marilla exclaimed, exasperated and a little offended by this remark. "You haven't had a bite of your breakfast yet. Now eat!"  

Anne sighed but obeyed. And it seemed, Marilla saw with no small amount of satisfaction, that the child did not find the breakfast so unappealing after all. She recovered her appetite after her second bite of the biscuit and soon began to eat as she usually did. 

"The buggy is ready," Matthew said once the washing and drying had been done. He could not quite hide his dismay that no problem had cropped up overnight and given him an excuse to stay behind at the farm. He sighed even more heavily than Anne had. 

 

* * *

 

Over the years, the Pritchett farm had acquired almost as dismal an air as the Haunted Woods. Weeds had taken over much of the orchard and garden even before old Mr. Pritchett had gone to live with relatives in Toronto, and the peeling paint of the neglected farmhouse had given the place a sad, forgotten appearance.

The Fauchelevent family had only just moved in three days earlier, but Anne saw with a thrill of excitement that already they had begun to strip the old paint from the house. She wondered what color they would paint it, and crossed her fingers for a nice blue shade.  

Matthew paused before the door, staring mutely at it with the resigned look of a man being led to his execution. It was only Marilla's half-stern, half-exasperated, " _Matthew_ ," that forced his hand. He knocked. Both knocks managed to sound somehow apologetic. 

The door opened and an old man peered out. He had a thin, clever face and his eyes were bright with curiosity. His eyes grew brighter still at the sight of the three visitors. He smiled at them and spoke. The words were in French, but the friendly tone made it obvious the short speech was a greeting.

"Good morning," Marilla said uncertainly, for until now she had not thought to ask Matthew whether or not Mrs. Lynde had mentioned if the family spoke a word of English. "We've come to welcome you to the island." She held up the basket which contained the stew she and Anne had made the night before. 

The old man's smile widened. Then he turned, calling out, and moved to the side to usher the visitors inside with an empathetic gesture. He had a limp, Anne saw, and wondered how he had gotten it. 

When they entered, Anne saw that they had caught the family at a late breakfast; the other three were sitting at the table, their plates still half-full. Anne's gaze swept briefly over the other two adults, a middle-aged man and a younger woman who had the gaunt look of someone recovering from a long illness, and then focused squarely on the girl. 

Anne saw with some disappointment that the girl was not pretty. She had thought all French little girls were beautiful, but this one had eyes too large for her face, which was hollow-cheeked, and hair the color of dirty straw in which the occasional incongruous bit of gold peeked out. "Oh," she said, her heart full of sudden sympathy, and impulsively stepped forward. "Oh, I suppose Mrs. Lynde called you ugly as well, didn't she? I do hope you didn't pay her any mind. She can be awfully cruel without meaning to. When I first met her, she called me ugly, you know, and said my hair was-- well."

She broke off with a laugh, for the other girl was watching her with a baffled but smiling look, having understood very little of Anne's rapid speech but nevertheless understanding the sympathetic humor behind this strange girl's chattering.

"Hello," said the girl, whose name was Euphrasie Fauchelevent, though everyone called her Cosette, in the most beautiful accent Anne had ever heard. Her lips parted in a sweet smile, revealing a bit of hidden prettiness Anne was both surprised and delighted by. She took Anne's hand. "Hello!" she said, more firmly.  

"Hello!" Anne echoed laughingly. "My name is Anne Shirley. And that is Marilla and Matthew. They took me in last year. I am an orphan, you know. Oh, I knew we would be friends at once! I cannot wait for you to meet Diana. I am certain we shall all become the best of friends."

Cosette's brow furrowed a little, for in truth she had only just started learning English a few months earlier, when her mother and uncles had begun their planning to move overseas. Still, she had understood some of it, enough to say, "My name is Cosette."

"Cosette," Anne said with an envious sigh. "How lovely. I wished to be named Cordelia, you see, but instead I am resigned to being Anne." She let go of that small hand with reluctance as Marilla stepped forward.  

Marilla hid it well, but she was flustered. Not only had they interrupted the family's breakfast, but she still did not know if they spoke more than the basics of English. "Good morning," she said. She might have known the French took their breakfasts later, she thought. Europeans were awfully queer. "I am Marilla Cuthbert and this is my brother Matthew, and our girl Anne." She held up the basket once more, half-brandishing it. "We've come to pay our respect and to welcome you to Avonlea." 

The older Fauchelevent brother said something in French, amused, although he looked somewhat contrite at his brother's mild stare.

The younger brother rose to his feet. Anne focused her attention upon him, and found that he had a sunburned, gravely thoughtful face. Although she did not know why, she found herself full of sympathy for this man too, who reminded her of Matthew with his uncertain smile. "Good morning," he said carefully. "I am Ultime Fauchelevent. This is Fantine--" The woman, unsmiling, only looked at them. "This is Achille, who is still learning English--" His brother grinned and nodded at his name.

"And this," said Ultime Fauchelevent, his voice softening, his eyes coming to rest tenderly upon his niece, "is Cosette." 

 

* * *

 

 

"Oh Matthew," Anne said breathlessly, once they had gotten into the buggy and turned back towards Green Gables. "Oh, Matthew, weren't they awfully fascinating?" 

"Well now," Mathew said slowly. He was torn. On the one hand, he had been unnerved by Mrs. Fauchelevent's wary expression and continued silence, and a little leery of the girl. He had thoroughly convinced himself that the woman hated him. On the other hand, although he would not have been able to explain it, he had looked at Ultime Fauchelevent's vague smile and felt a sense of fellow feeling for him, recognizing another soul as reserved as his own. 

There being an even split of women and men in the family, Matthew deferred to Anne's judgement and said, "Well now, I suppose they were interesting, at that."

Marilla sniffed. "Peculiar, if you ask me," she said. "They seem nice enough, but that woman didn't smile or speak the entire time we were there, and I am sure Ultime didn't tell us half of what his brother was saying, which seems suspicious."

"Oh, Marilla, couldn't you tell?" Anne said. "They've obviously had some great tragedy in their lives! Perhaps they even fled something terrible in France--"

"Now, Anne, don't let your imagination get away from you," Marilla said severely. "If you had been listening rather than whispering to Cosette, you would have heard Ultime explain that they are here because Fantine and Achille are recovering from illnesses and the doctor suggested it."

"Oh?" Anne said with interest, for during that point of conversation, Anne had been telling Cosette all about Green Gables. "I wonder if that is how he got his limp, and why she is so quiet. Perhaps her illness stole her voice. Or perhaps her husband died of the illness, and that's why she seems so sad. Maybe they moved here so she could get away from all the memories of her beloved husband--"

"Anne," Marilla said, exasperated, but it was no use. She sighed and settled back in her seat, resigned to hearing Anne's ridiculous theories on the Fauchelevents the entire ride home.  

It was only once Green Gables came into view that Anne fell silent for a moment, and then said rather thoughtfully, "I do think they have had some great tragedy in their lives, Marilla. Cosette is the dearest thing, but when she smiles she seems almost startled by it, like she'd forgotten how to smile at one point and is only just remembering how."

"If you say so," Marilla said dubiously. "Now, do remember you aren't to pry into their business."

"Oh no," Anne said, suddenly grave. "I am certain Mrs. Lynde will because she won't notice the way Cosette smiles, but I will never ask Cosette about why she moved to Avonlea. If she wishes to tell me, she will, but I won't ask, not ever." 

"Well then," Marilla said, both mollified and baffled by the ready agreement. "It is good to see you have some sense and propriety after all." 


	3. Matthew in the Lioness's Den

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mrs. Fantine Fauchelevent suffers an unfortunate encounter with a ditch, and Matthew faces a quandary.

It did not take long for the people of Avonlea to make up their minds about the Fauchelevent family. 

"Peculiar," Mrs. Rachel Lynde declared with a self-righteous nod. "Oh, I suppose the child is sweet and biddable enough, and I'll allow that at least they seem like god-fearing folk, but otherwise they are  _such_  a peculiar lot! I suppose I should not be surprised, for the French are so very strange, but do you know, I truly think that the oldest brother is having a joke at our expense and knows English perfectly well? And Mr. Ultime might be even more solitary than Josiah Pye. If he did not seem to speak English best of his family I suspect he would stay hidden away at the farm, just like that-- that  _woman_!"

The women around her nodded in agreement, as though Mrs. Lynde had perfectly summed up Mrs. Fantine Fauchelevent in one exasperated exclamation. 

Although Cosette had immediately proved a kindred spirit to Anne and Diana -- where one was, the other two were certain to be nearby -- it seemed that her mother did not smile or speak or pay calls upon her neighbors. In fact, Mrs. Fauchelevent rarely left the farm, except for the occasional trip to Carmody and to church, where she sat with the same grave look every Sunday, her eyes fixed upon Mr. Allan. 

It might have gone in this manner forever, for the people of Avonlea, having made up their minds about a person, are disinclined to change it, had Anne not broken her ankle and had Matthew Cuthbert not been in such a state that he'd run Mrs. Fantine Fauchelevent off the road and into a ditch.  

 

* * *

 

At the sight of Anne's pale, still face, Matthew had felt his heart turn over in his chest. For a moment he'd been worried he was having another spell and someone else would have to fetch the doctor for the both of them, but then the dizziness had passed and he'd caught his breath. 

Matthew drove his buggy faster than he'd ever driven it before, faster than when Diana had come to him weeping that Minnie May was dying of the croup. The sorrel mare, sensing the unusual urgency in his handling of the reins and unnerved by it, raced towards Carmody as fast as her hooves would take her. 

It was not until afterwards, with the doctor come and gone and Anne asleep rather than unconscious, that Matthew remembered Mrs. Fantine Fauchelevent's astonished expression and how she had fairly flung herself into a ditch as he'd driven past. 

Matthew did not know what to do.

It seemed plain that he owed Mrs. Fauchelevent an apology, but the shy man shuddered in horror at the idea of having to go and speak to her himself. But it  _had_  been his fault. He couldn't very well ask Marilla to apologize for him, surely, though he wished he could.

Matthew passed a sleepless, miserable night, tossing and turning and haunted by Mrs. Fauchelevent's astonished look and her grave silences.

The next morning he rose and did his chores as usual. He'd eaten breakfast in Anne's room, guiltily dusting the crumbs off the bed as he and Anne ate and Anne chattered at him about how foolish she felt, breaking her ankle like that. It was not until Anne had fallen back to sleep, still worn down by the pain in her ankle, that Matthew said to Marilla, "Well, I suppose I'll call on the Fauchelevents. They'll be wondering how Anne's faring." 

Before Marilla could do more than stare in wonder at this uncharacteristic offer, Matthew was out the door and away to the Fauchelevent farm. The mare, still unsettled and weary from the previous day's excitement, was inclined to be testy and slow. Matthew did not press her, glad to put off the visit even a few minutes longer. When he arrived at the farm, he walked slowly to the house, his hat twisted in his hands and the look of a condemned man upon his face. He knocked once, then strained his ears to hear for footsteps. Hearing none, he steeled himself as best he could and knocked louder.

This time he heard footfalls, light ones that meant it wasn't one of the brothers coming to greet him. He crumpled his hat even more and resisted the urge to flee as the door opened and Mrs. Fauchelevent's grave face peered out at him. 

The woman's eyes widened, taking in his pale, miserable countenance and mistaking the reason for it. Her hand rose to her throat and she whispered, horrified, " _Mon Dieu_! Say Anne is not-- is not--"

"No," Matthew assured her hastily, and watched her fear turn to relief. Her face was still pale though, her hand clutching her throat. A rush of goodwill at her honest concern about his beloved Anne made Matthew, who had never volunteered anything in his life, continue. "Well now, Anne's ankle is broke, but the doctor says she'll mend, long as she stays in bed and rests."

Mrs. Fauchelevent closed her eyes. Her lips moved, like she was praying. In the next moment, she had seized Matthew's hand, making him drop his hat in astonishment. A torrent of words washed over Matthew, who stood as though he'd turned to stone, staring down at Mrs. Fauchelevent's hands clutching his.

" _Je suis soulagé_ \-- I am so, so, monsieur, I am sorry, I do not know the word. Happy? We were-- we-- I am happy for Anne. She is a good girl. My Cosette, she likes Anne very much.  _We_  like Anne." 

This was said in a charmingly earnest tone, and, for the first time since she had come to the island, Mrs. Fauchelevent was smiling in a stranger's company, a broad smile of unfeigned relief. She looked suddenly younger, the haggard lines on her face giving way and revealing some of the beauty she must have had before her illness. 

Matthew bore the onslaught of words with a wide-eyed, astonished air. He felt dizzy, even worse than when he had gone on the merry-go-round as a child or he had first met Anne. In his sixty years, only four women had touched him so suddenly: his mother, who had been a trifle less reserved than her husband and given to occasionally stroking an affectionate hand through his hair; Marilla, who was no more sentimental than their parents but had leaned against him for support as they had stood and watched their mother being buried beside their father; Anne, who was always throwing a tender arm around his neck and kissing his cheek; and now, Mrs. Fauchelevent, clinging to him with all her strength. 

Had Matthew been sensible, he might have noticed that her front teeth were a trifle whiter than the rest of her mouth, being false ones crafted by one of the best craftsman in France. He might even have begun to suspect that those false teeth were one of the reasons Mrs. Fauchelevent did not smile, being somewhat self-conscious about them.

However, it happened that he was struck dumb, his attention fixed entirely upon Mrs. Fauchelevent's work-roughened hands. His ears were ringing, half-deafened by Mrs. Fauchelevent's words.

When she fell silent, he stirred, blinking slowly like someone coming out of a dream or nightmare. "Well now," he said, helplessly, wishing she would release him. "Well now, I sure am glad you like Anne. She likes your Cosette." 

"I am-- I am happy Cosette has friends," Mrs. Fauchelevent said. It was only then that she remembered her false teeth. Her lips pressed together, hiding away her teeth, but she did not completely lose her smile. "Will Anne--" Mrs. Fauchelevent frowned, trying to remember the little English an old friend had taught her, and what English she had learned during the journey to the island. Much to Matthew's relief, she let go of his hand as she thought. "May Anne have visitors soon?" 

"Tomorrow, long as Anne stays in bed," Matthew said.

"Tomorrow Cosette will visit," Mrs. Fauchelevent said decidedly, and then offered Matthew a sincere, close-mouthed smile. "Thank you for telling us, monsieur."

Matthew was relieved, until he remembered he had not done what he'd come to the Fauchelevent farm to do in the first place. "Well now," he said wretchedly. He did not look over his shoulder longingly to his buggy. He ducked his head and said softly, "You're welcome, ma'am, but I came because I, well now, because I owe you an apology."

Mrs. Fauchelevent looked puzzled. "An apology, monsieur?"

"For, well, for yesterday."

For another moment, Mrs. Fauchelevent only stared at him, as though he had spoken in Arabic rather than English. Then she clapped her hands to her mouth and giggled like a schoolgirl, collapsing against the doorway in her merriment.

Mrs. Fauchelevent's laughter was a clear, starlingly sweet sound, and yet Matthew, who had always suspected the women of the world to be silently laughing at him, knew this particular laugh was not meant mockingly. Somehow the sound was too kind for that. 

"Oh, monsieur, do not worry! I tore my dress a little, but it will mend." Mrs. Fauchelevent's expression softened, and she smiled at him once more, her false teeth momentarily forgotten. "And," she added gently, "you were worried for Anne. You will do anything for her, yes?"

"Yes," Matthew said.

"And I will do anything for Cosette," Mrs. Fauchelevent said. There was a fierce, tender look upon her face then, and such a strange, distant look in her eyes that anyone else would have begun to wonder what Mrs. Fauchelevent might have done in the past to protect her daughter.

Matthew, being a simple soul, only looked and saw the tender affection in her face and recognized it. It was how he felt about Anne, and the idea that he'd give her the world if he could and if Marilla would let him. He managed a small, bashful smile in return. "I'll tell Anne to be expecting Cosette tomorrow," he said. 

"Yes, monsieur. She is at Diana's now." 

Matthew nodded slowly. The shy man felt exhausted. He had spoken more to this woman in the past few minutes than he'd spoken to any other woman in his life other than Marilla. Even Anne tended to only expect one-word answers from him. Without realizing it, he shuffled backwards a step or two, towards his buggy.

"But I am keeping you from your farm," Mrs. Fauchelevent said, noticing the small movement. She smiled her closed-mouth smile once more. "Please, do not let me keep you from work. Thank you, monsieur. We are so happy Anne is all right." 

"Thank you," Matthew answered shyly, and then flushed and stammered, "For liking Anne so."

He fled to his buggy and was away before she could say anything more. He was halfway home when he realized he had left his cap crumpled at Mrs. Fauchelevent's feet. He did not turn back, though he ran his hand through his hair and sighed a little. 

When he came in to the kitchen, Marilla peered at him. The woman did not have much by way of curiosity, her allotment seemingly going to Mrs. Lynde, but her brother's strange behavior had stirred what little curiosity she had kept for herself. 

Before she could speak, however, or ask after his missing hat and wind-ruffled hair, Matthew turned to her and said, almost firmly, "Well now, you know, Marilla, I think we've been unkind to that Mrs. Fauchelevent. I think you ought to try and get to know her."

At his sister's wondering look, he turned first pale, then scarlet, and finally fled back out the door to the back orchard, where he spent the rest of the day being astonished at his own daring.

Marilla stared after her brother, who suddenly seemed a stranger. "Well!" she said. 


	4. Marilla Makes a Friend

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Marilla is faced with the uncomfortable suspicion that her brother is right and that Avonlea has been unkind to Mrs. Fauchelevent.

Matthew's declaration about Marilla having been unkind to Mrs. Fauchelevent had astonished Marilla at first, and then dismayed her. Her consternation only increased as she looked back over the last few months and had the disquieting notion that perhaps Matthew was right and that she and the people of Avonlea  _had_  treated Mrs. Fauchelevent unfairly. 

Mrs. Fauchelevent was, Marilla admitted, foreign and could not be expected to know the customs here. Perhaps one did not call upon their neighbors and introduce themselves in Paris. The French traditions  _were_  strange, after all. And then there was the plain and simple fact that the woman might not speak because she was embarrassed by her stilted English. Marilla wondered if anyone had thought to offer her lessons. Mrs. Allan might have made the suggestion, but then again, perhaps no one had.

"Anne," Marilla said the next day, after Cosette and Diana had settled upon the edge of the bed, entertained Anne for an hour, and then departed with promises to return the following evening. Marilla spoke almost sharply, for she was still disquieted by the thought that she might have been uncivil and acted as a poor neighbor. "How many times have you visited the Fauchelevent farm?"

"How many, Marilla?" Anne said, lifting an interested gaze to her, for Marilla did not often ask questions that seemed brought about by curiosity. She looked thoughtful. "I am not certain. At least once or twice a week since that first visit, so I suppose at least twenty times."

"Twenty!" Marilla exclaimed. "And the child has been here at least once weekly--" She cut herself off at Anne's fascinated look. "I had no idea she had visited so often."

"Well, yes," Anne said, her expression still wondering. "She is a kindred spirit, you know, Marilla. And we have been teaching each other English and French. She picks up English much faster than Diana and I are learning French, but Diana pointed out that Cosette's had an extra year to start learning English and we shouldn't feel badly when we forget when we should use  _tu_  and when we should use  _vous_ \--"

"And Mrs. Fauchelevent?" Marilla said, before Anne could descend into one of her long rambles.

"Oh, she has been teaching us a little, I suppose. That is, sometimes she will correct our accents." 

"So she speaks to you," Marilla said almost under her breath, but Anne heard and nodded.

"A little, though she doesn't talk much." Anne sighed, her expression taking on a familiar dreamy cast. "I do wonder what happened to them, Marilla, though I don't dare ask. The whole family gives off this air of being surprised by happiness, like they've just come through some great hardship."

Marilla, who had heard this theory often over the past few months, did not respond. Instead she said, almost absently, "You should rest. The doctor did say you ought to sleep as much as possible."

Anne, still looking curiously at her, nevertheless saw the unaccustomed contemplative look upon Marilla's face, and did not argue. "Yes, Marilla." She closed her eyes, her mind already turning to Marilla's unusual behavior and creating outlandish reasons for it.

Marilla, who in her distraction was grateful for Anne's unwonted obedience rather than suspicious of it, retreated to the kitchen where she sat a while, frowning to herself. At last, she shook herself from her thoughts and rose, going out to the back orchard where Matthew had hidden himself away, still embarrassed and overwhelmed by his outburst the day before.

"I'll need you to hitch up the buggy tomorrow," she said. She watched confusion and then a quiet hope pass slowly across her brother's mild features. 

"Yes, Marilla," he said. Then, almost slyly, "Are you going into Carmody?"

"No," Marilla said a little sharply, for the whole affair bothered her, and having to admit her mistakes aloud, even to Matthew, was unappealing. "I am going to pay a call on Mrs. Fauchelevent."

Matthew said nothing except, "All right," but his small, pleased smile spoke volumes. 

 

* * *

 

Just as Matthew had stared at the Fauchelevent farm door with the look of a condemned man, Marilla now eyed it with a discontented air. She was unused to guilt, and the sentiment turned her sharp, thin face almost forbidding as she knocked twice and then waited.

A moment later, the door opened and Mrs. Fauchelevent peered out at her, the confused  look upon her face turning more puzzled at Marilla's grimacing attempt at a polite smile.

"Mrs. Fauchelevent," Marilla said, and then thrust, awkwardly, a basket at her. Without giving the woman time to react, much less take the basket, Marilla said in a quick rush that better suited Anne, "Matthew says we have been unkind to you and yours, and I think he is right. We've not been good neighbors. And so I thought--"

Here, however, Marilla stopped, for her carefully thought out speech fell out of her head at Mrs. Fauchelevent's soft laughter. Unlike her brother, however, Marilla was not so astonished by the unfamiliar sound to miss the false teeth in Mrs. Fauchelevent's amused smile. Guilt twisted even more sharply in Marilla's stomach. She tried to gather up the remains of her speech, but couldn't quite manage it. She heard her own voice say instead, as though she had been briefly possessed by Matthew, "Well now, I don't see what is so funny, Mrs. Fauchelevent."

"Forgive me, Mademoiselle Cuthbert," Mrs. Fauchelevent said, though a closed-mouthed smile continued to curve her lips. Her English, Marilla noticed, was accented but perfectly understandable. "It is only that you and your brother are more alike than I thought." She took the basket from Marilla's unresisting fingers. "Please,come in. I am making tea." 

"Well, I don't mean to intrude," Marilla said, but Mrs. Fauchelevent was already stepping aside and opening the door for her. "And call me Marilla. Everyone does." 

This earned her another closed-mouthed, shy smile. "Marilla," echoed Mrs. Fauchelevent. In the privacy of her own mind Marilla allowed that her name sounded almost nice, spoken in the French way. "Then you must call me Fantine."  

"Fantine," Marilla said, pronouncing the strange name carefully. Then, a tad suspicious that the moment was turning sentimental, she added briskly, "I've brought over some jam we made from last year's apple harvest. I think your brothers will find Avonlea a good place for farming, for all that Paul Pritchett let the farm go wild before he went off to Toronto."

Fantine looked at her for a long moment, and Marilla tried not to fidget, for there was a queer, penetrating look in the woman's eyes that made Marilla suddenly self-conscious. Then Fantine smiled again, that hint of almost lost prettiness that had flummoxed Matthew so reappearing. 

"I think we will like Avonlea very well," she agreed. 


	5. Matthew Makes a Friend

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Matthew overhears one of Anne's more fantastic stories, and inadvertently makes a friend.

"No, no, Cosette," Anne said. "You cannot change the villain like that!"

Matthew had been about to enter the room. At the sudden realization that Anne had guests, he froze in place like a fox who has heard the baying of the hounds.

"Why not?" Cosette asked.

"Why not? Cosette, the villain _must_ be French! His name _is_ Mister D'arque, remember?"

Matthew had very little in the way of an imagination, though that small seed had steadily grown with Anne's care, but even someone with no imagination at all would have heard Anne's tone and pictured her waving her arms at Cosette in despair.

"I do not see why," said Cosette in a deceptively mild voice. Matthew's imagination failed him now, picturing Cosette's expression, but inside the room she had her arms folded against her chest and was frowning. "Every time we tell a story and there is someone with a French name, he is the villain. I want Monsieur...Monsieur _Allard_ to be the hero. We will name the villain...the villain...Monsieur White."

" _Cosette_ ," came the weak protest from the bed. "Who would be scared of a man named Mister White? At least give him some gloomy name like Mister Darkholm or Usher or _something_."

"Why does his name have to be evil as well? Is he evil because of his name? If so, he should change his name to something nice and be good instead."

Diana, who was torn between alarm at Anne's scandalized expression and private, almost traitorous agreement with Cosette, interjected a hasty, "I like that idea! Couldn't he have been born with the name Usher and changed it to White to hide from his family and his past? The reader wouldn't know who Miss Rosetta should love, Mister Allard or Mister White."

There was a stretch of silence, and Matthew, much to his own surprise, found that he was leaning forward with his ear almost pressed to the door, eager to hear Anne's response.

"That could work," Anne said slowly. "Mister White was born an Usher, and tries to leave his terrible past behind him. But when he tries to woo Miss Rosetta, Mister Allard sees that he is hiding something horrible." Her voice gained enthusiasm. "It is up to Mister Allard to uncover Mister Usher's past crimes and expose him for the monster he is! And when he does, Mister Usher stabs Mister Allard, and Mister Allard dies in Miss Rosetta's arms. Grief-stricken because she truly loved Mister Allard, she kills herself with the same knife. Mister Usher sees her die, and in a fit of remorse, he turns himself in for Mister Allard's murder and is executed."

There was a pause. Then together as one, the three girls sighed. "You are so clever, Anne," Diana said admiringly. "I don't know how you think of such terribly romantic stories."

"Poor Mister Allard," Cosette said, but there was satisfaction in her voice. "Even though they do not marry, will Mister Allard and Miss Rosetta be buried side by side?"

"Oh, they have to. They can't be separated like that, not even in death."

Matthew jumped guiltily at the approaching footsteps. His sheepish smile grew even more flustered when he realized it was not Marilla but the younger Mister Fauchelevent coming up the stairs.

Mister Fauchelevent stopped halfway up the steps, his expression turning slightly uncertain, for Matthew's flustered look made him think he had interrupted.

"I am here to take Cosette home for supper," he said slowly.

Matthew, who was embarrassed to admit he had been eavesdropping and enjoying himself tremendously, looked even more flustered. "Well now, I didn't realize it was so late," he said, which was almost a lie, for he had been intending to ask Anne if she wanted one or two of the ripe strawberries he had just picked as a before-supper treat.

The two men regarded each other for another moment, exchanging reserved smiles. Then Matthew turned and knocked at the door, calling, "Anne, Mister Fauchelevent is here."

The door opened and Matthew took a hasty step back as Cosette leaned out into the hallway and asked imploringly, "May I please stay a few minutes longer? We're still discussing how Mister Usher should die."

"Die?" Mister Fauchelevent looked baffled.

"By firing squad, hanging, or guillotine," Cosette informed him, and then added something in French that made the corners of Mister Fauchelevent's eyes crease in a puzzled but amused smile. "Please, just five minutes."

"Very well," said Mister Fauchelevent.

"Thank you!" Cosette said, favoring her uncle with a delighted smile. Then she darted back inside the room and left the two men alone once more.

Matthew recognized that helplessly fond smile, the one which said the other man could not deny Cosette anything. He wondered if it was Miss Fantine or the older Mister Fauchelevent who was forced to put their foot down and tell Cosette no. He cleared his throat. "Well now, I just brought in my first basket of strawberries, if you want to take some home with you," he offered shyly. 

For a moment, Mister Fauchelevent's expression didn't change, and Matthew worried he'd spoken out of turn. Then the man smiled tentatively, an awkward turn of his lips. "That's kind of you. We moved here too late to grow our own." He paused, and then added, amusement softening his words, "Cosette and I plan to grow our own strawberry patches next year. We will compete, she says."

"Now that's a fine idea," Matthew said, forgetting his shyness for the moment at the safe topic of growing things. "I wonder if Anne might like to do the same." He cleared his throat once more. "Let me get you those strawberries."

"Thank you," said Mister Fauchelevent, and the two men went down into the kitchen.

Marilla was sorting through the strawberries. She frowned a little at the sight of the men without Cosette, and then was amused in spite of herself when both her brother and Mister Fauchelevent looked apologetic. "Are you and Cosette staying for supper, Mister Fauchelevent?"

He shook his head, the apologetic smile still on his face. "No, Cosette asked for five more minutes to finish a story."

"And I thought we might give them some of the strawberries, Marilla," Matthew added.

Marilla blinked in surprise at this unexpected offer before she understood his reasoning. "Oh of course, you moved here after the planting season. That's a good thought, Matthew." She rose to her feet, adding, "I was going to start on the preserves tomorrow. I can make Fantine a jar or two if she likes."

"Oh, you don't--" Mister Fauchelevent paused, and an almost rueful smile passed over his face. He said, meekly, "I will ask Fantine, thank you."

"Why don't you and Matthew sit down a spell? Five minutes means fifteen, if I am any judge of those girls," Marilla said. She watched the two men hesitate and then obey, exchanging awkward smiles across the table. She turned away hastily, both to get a small basket for the strawberries and to hide the amused twitch of her lips.

"Well now," Matthew ventured after a long stretch of silence. "What do you plan on growing on the farm?"


End file.
